Occasionally, just occasionally, George Clooney is allowed to play comedy. He does saucer-eyed "surprise" expressions and head-waggling, violent double-takes. It is the sacred duty of any responsible director to keep Clooney off his funny jag, to keep his head still and his handsome vibe steady. Sadly, here the director is Clooney himself, making this self-indulgent goofball 1920s comedy about the early days of professional American football. British moviegoers are therefore asked to be sentimentally nostalgic about something of which they have no knowledge.

The movie admittedly looks good, a little like George Roy Hill's jazz-age comedies. But Clooney is smug and uninteresting as the cynical pro player, and, as the smart reporter, Renée Zellweger's facial muscles are locked in that weird lemon-sucking smirk-pout-grimace. The climax is an arcane American football strategy move, which is completely incomprehensible. Oh, and very boring.